Sunshine in a Bottle
by mswyrr
Summary: Post-finale, Don comes to Peggy to talk about Coke.


**Sunshine in a Bottle**

 **Genre:** Gen fic. Canon compliant. Don + Peggy friendship with Stan/Peggy.

 **Content warning:** references to suicide/suicidal thoughts

* * *

Don was used to the way everything Peggy felt showed on her face, but it was still something to see. Right now, shock and joy were trying to figure out which came first. Shock elbowed its way to the front. "You're here!" she told him, like it was big news to him that he was standing in her doorway.

"I am," he agreed, and didn't make a crack about it. He came here first because he knew it was the only place he was guaranteed a warm welcome. He wasn't going to screw that up. "Mind if I come in?"

"Oh! Of course," she stepped back, gesturing widely, "have a seat anywhere. Do you want something to drink?"

"Sure. Coffee." He hadn't gone on the wagon and he never would, but he was making a strong go at moderation, and he'd had a few on the plane.

It was a nice place. Not big or fancy, and the neighborhood wasn't great. But neat and homey. There was warm evening light coming in through the windows and a cute green dress slung over one of her chairs. Art for Chevalier on the low table near the couch. An orange cat that raised its head and yawned when he sat.

Peggy was a thirty-year-old woman who lived alone. In the world of his youth, she'd be a sad old spinster. But that world was gone. Here and now, her place felt more like a happy home than most of the places he'd lived as a married man.

When she came back in, she handed him his coffee and sipped her own, not sitting. "You look good," she observed, her foot lightly tapping. "Tanned." She frowned, turning to set her coffee on the table. While her back was to him, she said, "You didn't sound good on the phone." And then glanced over at him.

It was a question. He shrugged. "I got better."

"You could have let me know." Her tone was careful, wary. Like she wasn't sure if it was okay to push him on this. "I was worried."

She always pushed him, even when she shouldn't. The absence of that put a sick feeling in his stomach. Had the phone call been that bad? … probably. Damn it.

He didn't want her, of all people, treating him like a head case. This was supposed to be his first stop in the city, the _good_ one to make all the others go down easier.

"Is that why you've got a hot date?" he joked, tilting his chin at the dress on the chair. "Because you were so worried."

He expected her to nettle and come back at him with a remark, but instead she just looked guilty. "I'm not going out."

She really needed to snap out of this. Don gave her a sideways look and kept pushing. "Are you hoping the cat gives it a free press?"

Peggy glanced over at the dress, Exhibit A for the prosecution. It was very cute, now that he looked at it. Had a bow at the waist and everything. "I'm not going out," she repeated, "but Stan's coming over."

Stan Rizzo and Peggy Olson… huh. "Are you two working or courting?"

"Both," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring down at him.

Thatta girl.

"When did that happen?"

"It's recent," she hedged.

He continued his plot to get her just mad enough to stop pussyfooting around him, but now he curious too. "How recent?"

Peggy dropped her arms to her sides, that squaring off stance she used when she was sick of his shit. "We actually started dating right I got off the phone with you," she said, her face squished up in an adorable moue. She knew exactly how that sounded.

Don laughed. "You've had quite a week."

Peggy huffed. "Fine!" She paced away from him. "It's _so_ funny," she sputtered in annoyance. "It's hilarious, I—" she stopped and her shoulders lifted and she turned back to him, finally outright angry. "But you know what?" She jabbed a finger in his direction. "It's _not,_ Don. Because I was worried. I can do both. I did do both. And you—how dare you when you just—" she spread her hands wide, "just throw all this shit in my lap and then hang up on me. Don't try and get _cute_ with me just because I have a date and something to do besides worry about you when you didn't even tell me where you were! You just said California! Do you know how big California is? It's huge. You could have been anywhere and… you…" she shook her head, glared at him, tears bright in her eyes, "you _scared the shit out of me_ , Don."

It cut at him to know it, but she was being straight with him now, so he was glad too. "I know," he said. And, because the look in her eyes was so sad and he honestly never meant to put that there, he said: "I'm sorry."

Her eyes widened.

Men like him didn't apologize much. He couldn't remember having ever said that to her before. He didn't regret it, but he'd like to move on now. Spreading his arm out along the back of the couch, he said: "Would you get over here already?"

Peggy came over and curled up against him with that inexplicable ease they had together. He hadn't had a name for it until that night they were working on Burger Chef and she put it into words: they weren't blood but they were family. Not the ordinary way men and women became family, with rings and vows to be broken. They just were.

His own daughter wasn't this comfortable with him anymore. It was his fault and he accepted it. But Peggy… she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I kept thinking about Lane," she whispered around a choked breath.

He felt heat come to his own eyes and took a breath around it. Then tightened his arm around her shoulder. "It's okay," he said, turning his head to kiss her hair. "'sokay."

There was a warm silence between them. She took his hand and held it as her breathing evened out. After a few minutes Peggy glanced at her watch. "It's six thirty," she said. "Stan's gonna be here at seven."

And he probably didn't want to see his new girl canoodling on the couch with her old boss. 'It's not romantic, we're just a new kind of family' might not satisfy as an explanation. Though, who knew, Stan seemed like a modern kind of guy. Young people were coming up with all kinds of crazy ideas these days.

He was still perplexed at Megan's attempt at healing their marriage with a threesome. It was enjoyable, but strange. For a wife to want that with one of her friends and her husband. How many of her female friends had she considered? At that thought, the vivid and surprisingly appealing image of Megan and Peggy and him went through his mind.

Christ.

He almost wished he had a god to apologize to for that one.

"Oh," he said, loosening his grip on her shoulders and sitting up straight. "Should I go?"

Peggy smiled at him with those pretty eyes of her and touched his shoulder. "Nonsense. Stan is going to make his famous spaghetti and there's enough for three."

"You're inviting me on your date?" Don asked, unconvinced. "It's okay. I can come back tomorrow."

"No. It's a working date, and he'll be glad to see you."

Don wasn't sure about that. "I do have some ideas for Coke I wanted to run by you," he admitted, glancing at her to see her reaction. "I want to come in with something strong and I want you on the team, if they let me back."

Her reaction was… spirited, to say the least. She actually bounced a little in her seat, like Sally going to see the Beatles. "I knew it!" she said, beaming. "Don Draper and Coca-Cola. It's perfect. Two American classics," she joked, but there was genuine admiration mixed in and it made him feel about ten feet tall. "Look, I need to change and then when Stan gets here we'll go over it, okay?" She bit her lip. "Unless you want to keep it secret?"

"This is delicate," Don admitted. "But you trust him." It was a question in the form of a statement because, well, the guy was her beau and Don didn't want to be offensive.

"Stan won't tattle about it," Peggy said and then stood, grabbing the dress off the chair and heading into her bedroom. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm in love!" she called out with a laugh.

Don turned his head to follow her disappearing figure, surprised at what she'd just admitted. There was a big difference between dating someone and being in love with them, but apparently it didn't bother her for him to know.

The cat came over, demanding attention. When it got tired of being petted, Don lit a cigarette and looked through the Chevalier papers. Peggy was doing some good work. Not a surprise, but nice to see.

She came out twenty minutes later, cute as a button, and sat down on the couch, further away than before.

"You look good." He didn't want the compliment to hang in the air, so he pushed on. "What's famous about this spaghetti?" He pulled out another cigarette, extended the package to her. "Anybody die from it?"

Peggy waved the cigarette off. "No, thanks. We're cutting back." She said it the casual way married people talked about things they did together and, again, didn't seem to notice how obvious she was being. Don noted that with concern; that was moving fast for a week of dating.

He didn't want to see her get hurt. But there was nothing he could do about that right now, so he just said "That's smart," and lit his own cigarette.

"The spaghetti's great," Peggy enthused. "All fresh ingredients." A fond smile came over her face. "Stan grows his own basil and rosemary. Out on the fire escape of his building." She was very impressed with Stan's fire escape garden."

"Sounds good," Don said. And then they both glanced at the clock: there was a good ten minutes before lover boy showed up.

They met each other's eyes. The thing they really wanted to talk about was the work. It was always the work with them.

Peggy leaned forward. "Why don't you tell me about Coke?"

"And Stan?" Don asked, stalling. He thought it was good, but he'd been off recently. Longer than he liked to admit. Riding on the coattails of his own reputation. He used to know just the right spot to hit. How to use his feelings to give an ad punch without dragging it down. And then he tried selling paradise with transparent suicide fantasies and Hershey's… well…

What if she thought it was terrible?

Would the soap bubble of peace he'd found in some cheesy California hippy retreat finally burst?

"It's fine," Peggy said. "We can fill him in later."

"Okay." Don reached for his cup and then, realizing it was just coffee, paused. "Could I get some Irish in this?"

"I'll get you a new glass – I have Canadian Club," she said, heading for the kitchen.

She brought out two glasses and the whole bottle. They exchanged a smile at that. She poured for both of them, handing him one. He finished it in two gulps and poured another to drink as he talked. "All right. I want you to be honest, but I need you to let me finish first. Don't jump in, okay?"

"Sure."

"And," he said, because Hershey's loomed over everything he did now, "this isn't the real pitch. This is me talking to you."

"Don," she said, gently, "you held my hand through Burger Chef. You built me up and…" there was a sweet look in her eyes, as if she was recounting a fond childhood memory, "told me things about this job I'm going to keep using the rest of my life." She reached out, touching his hand and then retreating to a pose of listening. "Just talk to me."

"All right," he said, and took another drink. "I wasn't a big fan of my war," he started. "But I kept it to myself. It's what you do—" he caught himself, " _did_. But not anymore. This time there's all these kids, heartsick together, in public… Pushing everyone. Taking their licks for it, too." There were men of his generation who considered them cowards, but Don knew himself to be a bigger coward than any of them. ""They don't want to feel superior sitting in a segregated diner. They don't take any satisfaction in the idea of marching off to fight… whoever they're supposed to hate at the moment. They're sick of it." Her expression was open, intent. He hoped she wasn't just faking. "They want to feel good, together. And that's the ad – young people of every race and creed, united by this brand everyone knows. Feeling good together. And the tag… 'I want to buy the world a Coke.'" He finished the glass and poured another. "That's it. That's what I've got."

"It's good," Peggy said. "We need to push it further, but it's really good." The words were there, and she meant them, but the knot in his stomach didn't ease until she grinned at him and said: "It's good to have you back."

Before he could respond, there was a knock on the door and Stan was there, a bag of groceries in his arms and surprise on his face. "Oh, hey, man," he said when he saw Don, "good to see you." He switched the grocery bag to one arm and shook Don's hand. "Staying for dinner?" he asked, casual and easy.

"Yep," Peggy said and raised on her toes to give Stan a kiss on the cheek so he'd know Don was up-to-date on them. "He wants our help on Coke. We can do Chevalier after. Can you put that down in the fridge and have a drink before you get started?"

"Sure," he said. When he came back in, Peggy gave her synopsis of Don's pitch. Less personal, but she got the point across well. She'd pulled out yellow tablets and pens for everyone.

Stan had brought wine and glasses, which he switched them all over to without making a point about how fast they'd been hitting the whiskey. It was a smart move. Made things feel more like a nice dinner with friends than a hard liquor soaked deadline at the office.

"The challenge I'm seeing is," she said, falling into the rhythm of copy chief naturally, "– what are they doing together, besides drinking Coke? And where are they? Is this a party?"

"I was picturing someplace green," Don tossed in. "Sunshine. Rolling hills."

"Maybe a park?" she asked, tapping her pen.

"Or a music festival?" Stan suggested.

"Oh!" Peggy said, and wrote that down and then circled it. "I like that. Don?"

It was good. "We could get a big name playing in the background," he said. "But who?"

They ran through every hip young artist they could think of, doing pros and cons. When Peggy and Don started sniping at each other in frustration, Stan touched Peggy's shoulder gently. The contact drained the stress right out of her as she leaned into it, smiling over at him. "I don't know about you, but I'm starved."

Peggy nodded. "Let's come back to this after dinner," she agreed.

Stan kissed her cheek before wandering off to the kitchen.

Don watched in fascination: so this was how a guy handled dating the girl who was his boss for years and, frankly, more of a career man than him. Suggestion, not command. Easygoing support.

It was strange, but it looked good on them. It was the kindness she was probably looking for when she went for Ted. But Ted wasn't kind. Men who cheated on their wives weren't kind. Ted was nice. There was a world of difference.

Peggy, looking bright and happy, said: "I can feel it, Don. This is going to be great. We just have to keep pushing on it. And then you'll come in and knock their socks off with it. They'll have to take you back."

Don raised his glass of wine to her. "I like him," he said, quiet enough that Stan wouldn't hear.

Peggy raised her eyebrows, her own wineglass paused in midair. "You know it wouldn't matter if you didn't, right?"

She would kill him and conceal the body before she let him pull another stunt like he had with Ted. But there was no need for that here. Not as long as Stan was good to her.

Don smiled. "Yeah. I do."

"Okay," she said, leaning forward to toast him. "Then, thanks."


End file.
